


this: a constant question.

by gallantrejoinder



Series: Whouffaldi Oneshots [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Contemplation, F/M, I mean I headcanon Twelve as ace but it's ambiguous in this fic so /shrug, Introspection, Kind of poignant and melancholy IDK, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 09:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: They don't touch, the two of them. Not anymore.





	this: a constant question.

They don’t do this sort of thing, him and her. They don’t touch.

Admittedly, they hug. Almost always initiated by her, of course, because she’d never quite gotten used to the change of rules regarding touching after he regenerated. Before, they used to touch all the time – it came easily, like breathing, his lips brushing her forehead and her cheeks and her hands, his arms thrown around her, lifting her up off the floor without effort. Sometimes she even has a dream, memory-like, of kissing the old him on the mouth in a darkened hallway, the snow falling silently outside, her heart thundering with excitement.

But now that he has a new face, they don’t touch. His hands hover around her face when he’s worried. He’ll grab her hand when the time comes to run, pulling her along with purpose and fear and a terrible kind of excitement. Every once in a while, when he’s scared, he’ll pull her in close, like he’s only just remembered he can. And that’s enough for her – she knows it’s different now. _He’s_ different now, troubled on the surface _and_ underneath, where once he was able to hide it so well.

However much he’s improved, softened, now that he knows she’s not leaving again, though … He still struggles with faces, emotions, manners. She thinks, if he were human, psychologists would love a look at his brain, trying to understand all the traits she’s come to accept as part of him.

That thought makes her smile, despite the situation. As if anyone could understand him so easily.

She’d figured, when the cheerfully sensual beings of this planet insisted that they share a tiny bed, (a cultural custom, he had explained,) that he would wake up first – or maybe even forgo sleep altogether, to avoid being too near her for so long. But he’d surprised her, lying down comfortably in the narrow cot made of – metal? Plastic? Some sort of hybrid of the two – and raised his ridiculous eyebrows questioningly at her, as if confused by her hesitance.

So she’d lain down beside him, relaxing physically, tensing mentally, waiting for him to flinch away or spring up again. She’d been wondering about what kind of excuse he’d come up with – probably a demand of the TARDIS, or something about Time Lord physiology not allowing him to sleep beside another being.

But he still surprises her, even after all this time. He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t even shifted as she made herself comfortable. He’d only stared at the ceiling, made of the same unknowable material as the bed, the expression on his face unreadable.

And she had been tired, her singular human heart taxed by the adventures of the day and the effusive, excitable energy of the native beings. So she’d fallen asleep by degrees, her side warming slowly with the heat of his body.

She hadn’t expected to awaken before him. She hadn’t expected to find her arm around him, her forehead against his back, her ears faintly aware of his double-time heartbeat. She thinks it must have given her strange dreams, the sound of it – the feel of him against her. Her head feels muddled, dazed with sleep.

When she’d slept beside Danny, he’d curled up behind her, making her feel safe – centred, for once, in the real world. The world without the Doctor. She’s so small that she’s gotten used to being the little spoon, the one being lifted, raising her head for kisses and her arms for embraces. She can’t ever remember holding someone in her arms quite like this.

Her awakening happens slowly, and she doesn’t want to move. She’s sure that at any moment he’ll wake up and realise where they are – what they’re doing – and leave. Some selfish part of her wants to delay the inevitable, keep him close in the way they never allow themselves to be anymore.

He had said it was his mistake, but that was only a kindness. She knows it was her mistake too.

It becomes obvious to her, as her mind finally rises to full clarity, that he is not waking up as she does. For a moment, she panics – what if he’s sick? Poisoned, or worse?

The thought gives her the jolt she needs to move, sitting up a little so she can see his face, her arm still around his skinny waist. But the expression on his face is peaceful, his breathing slow and even. He isn’t cold, and there’s no sweat upon his brow. She still doesn’t know all there is to know about Time Lord physiology, unsure as she is when he’s joking about that sort of thing, but for now, the lack of any obvious signs of illness is enough for her to settle.

She finds herself still staring, though. His expression lacks animation, but is no less fascinating for that. He looks younger – less world-weary, the way he gets sometimes when they manage to have everything to go their way for once. Happy to simply be. To exist in a universe filled with wonders, that doesn’t always need him to save it. She can see all of his faces when he looks like that, all the people he’s ever been. Sometimes she thinks she can even see who he will become, too. The selfish part of her that knows – reminding her on nights she can’t sleep – that she’s mortal, _that_ part of her aches when she thinks about him changing again. It’s an angry kind of ache, a jealousy she doesn’t know how to tame. Doesn’t want to.

He can die with whoever comes after her, but only if someone _dares_ to come after her.

He frowns, suddenly, in his sleep, a pained expression making its way onto her face. She feels a pang of guilt, as if it’s her fault, as if he can read her mind. She knows it’s foolish to let her reckless side get to her like that. Of course there’ll be someone after her. Of course she can’t be with him forever.

Human lives are incredibly short, and impossibly fragile. Luck has taken her this far. Danny’s ran out, and that’s all there is to it.

She finds the arm she’s not leaning on – her left, the one around his waist – slowly rising up his chest, settling at the juncture between his neck and jawline. Her thumb strokes his cheek before she can think to stop herself, can remind herself not to wake him. But still he sleeps, and this face is as warm under her hand as his last had been.

It hurts, suddenly, to look at him like this. Closer than he’s been to her in months. More silent and vulnerable than she can ever remember him being at all. She hates herself for taking advantage like this – when he’d never let her be so close if he was awake. She hates him, too, for not letting her be.

She sits up properly, turns away. Pretends she can’t hear him making a sleepy noise of protest, his face turning towards her as her hand slips away. They don’t do this. They don’t touch.

Sometimes, though, she wishes they would.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. This turned out way sadder than I intended. The title is from a poem I wrote a few years back from Twelve's POV, which goes like this:
> 
> i would give too much  
> to understand this ache,  
> this: a constant question.
> 
> i have had your heart -  
> you must know you have mine.  
> (perhaps i thought once was enough  
> yet even now this face has stopped lying -)  
> i am sorry. this love remains.
> 
> i am old, but love is older,  
> and no matter my many lovers,  
> it confounds.
> 
> (i remember the look in your eyes when you smiled, and leapt,  
> into myriad threads of light interwoven, this: an ancient life -  
> you haunt me.)
> 
> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


End file.
